Trust (17 page)

        The conversation dried up. Ray looked up and down the shelf next to him and picked up a box of cornflakes. He put the box into his basket and then began to trundle down the aisle. His body seemed haunched forward and heavy. It was almost as if he had the weight of the world resting on his unwilling shoulders. `See you later,’ he mumbled, `I’d better get back. Don’t want to upset our Brenda any more than I already have done.’ `All right, take care then Ray,’ I said as I watched him shuffle off. I felt sorry for him. Normally jolly and effervescent, today he was a shell of a man. It looked like it was all he could do just to keep going.

        He turned back momentarily. `See you on Friday night, Tom?’ he asked hopefully. `Probably,’ I smiled, remaining as noncommittal as I could.

        He nodded and went on his way. I turned my attention to getting my shopping done, getting out and getting home. `I had it first, you bastard,’ I heard a gruff, croaking voice say from the next aisle. The mass of shoppers crammed into the building seemed to stop what they were doing in unison to watch what was happening. I peered round the end of the display rack and saw two old men, face to face, each one trying to wrestle a bottle of whiskey off the other. `Get another bottle,’ one of the men hissed. `Fuck off and get yourself another bottle.’ `There’s no more of these. This one’s mine. You get another bottle.’

        For a moment the two men stood motionless, each one glaring into the other’s glasses, locked in a fierce (but ultimately pointless and pathetic) conflict. They looked bizarre all braces, tweed jackets, flat caps, slip on shoes and absolute hate and contempt for each other.

        Then it happened. It a single sudden and unexpected moment of movement, the smaller of the men yanked the bottle from the other’s hand and threw it into a display of bottles of wine. He then punched his adversary in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground like a rag doll.

        `That was mine,’ he hissed, leaning over the body on the linoleum. Without saying another word he then turned and walked out of the shop.

        A few seconds later, with a cold disregard for the unconscious old man on the ground, the rest of the shoppers turned their backs on the scene, forgot what had just happened and went about their business.

        It took me another twenty minutes to get out of the shop.

        There must have been something seriously wrong with the elderly population of Thatcham, I thought as I crossed the high street. I could see an old lady sitting on a bench. Her coat was open. Underneath her long grey mackintosh she was completely naked.

        I stopped at James’ house in the way home. I hadn’t seen anything of him or Stephanie for a couple of weeks. I hoped that Stephanie would be in. She was a good friend of Siobhan’s and they often spoke on the phone. Maybe she’d be able to tell me what it was that I was supposed to have done to offend her.

        James answered the door. He shouldn’t have been there. He should have been at work. `All right, Jim?’ I asked cautiously.

        My friend looked strangely distant but at least he didn’t curse me, ignore me, punch me or slam the door in my face. In fact he didn’t do anything. He just stood there, swaying slightly from side to side as if he was drunk. But it was far too early in the day for that.

        He slowly lifted his head and looked at me. His bleary eyes began to focus. `What?’ he mumbled. `I said are you all right?’

        He nodded. `Fine.’

        He then turned around (bumping into the half-open door as he did) and stumbled back inside the house. Unsure, I followed him in and found Stephanie sitting on the living room floor, barely dressed. She looked up as James walked back into the room, then looked at me, then looked down again. The expression on her face was just as confused and directionless as that of her husband. `Okay, Stephanie?’ I asked softly.

        She looked up again, then looked down again. She muttered something. It might have been a word or two, but her speech was so blurred and indistinct that I couldn’t be sure.

        James collapsed into the nearest chair. `What’s up with you two?’ I asked. No response. `Are you ill, Jim?’ I tried. `Why aren’t you at work?’

        James said nothing. He just listlessly stared into the space in front of him. `Do you want me to get a doctor? Do you want me to…?’ `Hello,’ the couple’s eldest child Jessica said suddenly.

        She was standing next to me. I hadn’t noticed her come into the room. `Hello, you,’ I whispered, crouching down so that we were on the same level and I could speak to her quietly. `You okay?’

        She nodded. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. `So what’s up with your mummy and daddy today?’ I asked.

        Jessica shrugged. Two of her three younger sisters peered around the kitchen door and then crept into the room when they recognised me. Although she was the oldest, Jessica was just under eight years of age. She obviously understood little about what was happening around her. Unfortunately neither did I. `They’re acting strange, aren’t they?’ she said, looking down at her mother sprawled haphazardly across the living room floor. `Were they like this yesterday?’ `No,’ she said quietly. `When you went to bed last night,’ I asked, `were they like this then?’

        She shook her head. `No they were different.’ `Different?’ `Angry.’

        James and Stephanie remained virtually motionless.

        Occasionally one of them would move, but it would only be to scratch the side of their face or shuffle their weight slightly. As I stared at them both I began to feel a desperate, claustrophobic fear building up inside me. The realisation that this was not just some freak coincidence that there was something happening to the people around me that was wrong and unnatural. Just about everyone I had seen so far this morning had been either filled with seemingly unjustified anger and hate or, like these two, zombie-like and morose.

        A sudden movement on the sofa behind Stephanie caught my eye. I leant over and saw that the couple’s youngest child was lying in amongst a bundle of dirty linen. The helpless baby didn’t have any clothes on, just a nappy which seemed fit to burst. It hadn’t been changed for some time. Disturbed by my sudden movement, the baby began to cry and wail and wave its tiny arms and legs frantically. Feeling desperately inexperienced I scooped her up and held her close to my chest. She was freezing cold. She squirmed and kicked with fear. `Stephanie!’ I hissed. `Stephanie, will you get up off your backside and see to this baby?’

        No response.

        I looked up and saw that James was watching me. `For Christ’s sake, James, will you do something?’

        Nothing.

        I didn’t know what to do. With Jessica’s help I managed to change the child’s nappy, find it some clothes and get it some milk. The other children played happily in their bedrooms, oblivious to whatever it was that was happening around them. I knew there was nothing I could do for their parents. I shook them, shouted at them and I even hit them. Nothing.

        The irrational behaviour which I had already seen in some of my closest friends seemed to be sweeping through Thatcham like a plague. Completely unbelievable but painfully true, the people around me were beginning to systematically self-destruct. It seemed to me although I couldn’t be sure that there was a pattern. They first seemed to become violent and unpredictable before slipping into the withdrawn, catatonic state that I had found James and his wife in.

        I had to get out of the house. I could feel the panic beginning to rise inside me. I didn’t know where to go but I knew that I had to get away. I phoned James’ brother (who lived a couple of streets away) but there was no reply. In desperation I knocked on the front door of James’ neighbour’s house. Mrs Simpson the old widow who had lived alone there for years seemed as reassuringly calm, lucid and unflustered as she always did. I did my best to explain the bizarre situation to her and, although she didn’t seem to believe a word of what I told her, she did at least agree to sit with the children until I managed to get hold of someone to look after them or their parents managed to snap out of their unnatural state whichever happened first.

        In the midst of the sudden confusion and disorientation I managed to salvage and hold on tightly to a single positive thought. Now that I had seen this irrational behaviour from other people who were unconnected to me, I could safely assume (if anything could be safely assumed any more) that I was not the cause of the problem.

        I ran back home to get my car.

        I needed to find Siobhan next.

        I needed to know that she was all right.

24

        As I drove towards Siobhan’s house my nervousness and uncertainty increased. Despite all that I had seen in the last hour or so, a part of me still wondered whether I was to blame for the wall which seemed to have been built between the two of us.

        Had something I’d done offended her? Had I missed or forgotten something crucial? Should I have called yesterday or just swallowed my pride and gone round to see her the day before?

        Would she even let me in the house when I turned up today? I couldn’t believe that in less than half a week all that we had managed to build together through months of intimate closeness seemed to have been destroyed. I hoped and prayed that when I knocked on the door it would be answered by my Siobhan the girl that I loved, remembered and missed desperately. The girl who had saved my sanity. The one and only person who had always been there for me since Mum and Dad had died.

        Siobhan’s house wasn’t far from mine and it didn’t take me long to get there. The roads were quiet. I hadn’t been expecting to come across much traffic, but I hardly saw any. I could only have passed another five or six cars during the entire journey.

        I turned into her road and pulled up outside her house. For a couple of minutes I did nothing but just sit there and try and compose myself and get my thoughts together. All of the fear and concern I felt for the rest of the people around me paled into insignificance alongside my desperate fears and concerns for Siobhan. Whatever it was that was happening in Thatcham, I knew that I could deal with it with a thousand times more strength and determination if the woman I loved was standing by my side again.

        It was no good. I didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself trembling and shaking with nervous anticipation. I stared at Siobhan’s house and anxiously watched for even the slightest sign of movement. I had hoped that she might come out to see me when she saw the car but no, there was nothing. My tension was increasing with every second. All that I wanted to do was hold her tight again, but I couldn’t bring myself to take that first step forward. The fear of being rejected by her was too much to even begin to think about.

        Two or three long and painfully drawn-out minutes went by before I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer. I took a long, deep breath and then got out of the car and walked up the short garden path to the front door. I closed my eyes and rang the bell.

        I peered through the small frosted glass window, hopeful of seeing some movement inside the house and quickly moved out of the way when I saw that someone was coming.

        Siobhan yanked the door open and stood and glared at me.

        She looked bad. Her clothes were creased and worn. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her usually perfect hair was knotted and tangled. `Siobhan, I…’ I began.

        She slammed the door shut in my face.

        Stunned at first, I shook my head with disbelief. Then, more out of anger than for any other reason, I began to pound my fist against the door again and again and again. `Siobhan!’ I yelled, loud enough for the entire street to hear. `Let me in! Just open the fucking door and let me talk to you!’

        I peered in through the small window again. I could see her waiting in the shadows of the hallway. That was a good sign. At least she was considering coming back and talking to me. If she hadn’t wanted to know she would surely have gone further into the house. As it was she was still just a few feet away. `Come on,’ I begged. `Please Siobhan, just stop and tell me why you’re acting like this. If it’s something I’ve done then at least have the decency to tell me what it is. I’m worried about you…’

        I glanced back over my shoulder self-consciously and wondered if anyone else in the road had heard me shouting. Not that it really seemed to matter shouts, screams and arguments were par for the course today. `You don’t care about me,’ a muffled voice suddenly grunted from inside the building.

        `Yes I do,’ I insisted, relieved that she had finally spoken. `Of course I do. I love you for God’s sake. What makes you think that I don’t care?’

        I braced myself for her response. I had asked a question that I didn’t really want to hear the answer to.

        There was another long and painful silence. I squinted through the window again and saw that she had moved a little closer to the door. I quickly moved back out of the way, hoping that she hadn’t seen me staring. To my relief I then heard the latch click. The door slowly opened inwards. `Thanks,’ I gasped, my heart racing. `I can’t tell you how worried about you I’ve been. I was starting to think that…’

        My words were wasted. Siobhan obviously didn’t have any interest in what I had to say. Rather than listen she just turned her back and walked towards the living room. I followed but kept a cautious distance between us. The building was cold (I could see through the kitchen that the back door was open) and untidy. The carpets were covered with discarded food, clothes and belongings. She’d never been particularly house proud, but I’d never seen the place like this before. Siobhan stumbled and tripped across the littered living room floor and dropped heavily into the nearest seat. I waited by the door, unsure if I was welcome. When she didn’t react I took a few hesitant steps forward. `I missed you,’ I said, simply and honestly.